


In Which They Adore Each Other

by givesamapuppy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Outdoor Sex, Picnics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Stanford Era, fluffy beach picnic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givesamapuppy/pseuds/givesamapuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jess surprises Sam one morning by taking him on his first picnic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which They Adore Each Other

Sam’s not sure what to think when Jess wakes him up one Saturday morning, straddling his chest and leaning down so her soft blond curls are tickling him in the face, and tells him to get dressed and meet her in the car in fifteen minutes. 

He squints as he steps out into the California sunshine fifteen minutes later, where Jess’s car is waiting by the sidewalk in front of the apartment. She’s in the driver’s seat, wearing a checkered yellow-and-white sundress that makes her tanned skin look like it’s glowing. She leans over and pats the passenger seat. “Come on, get in!” 

The leather seat is warm from the sun and the car smells like freshly-baked bread and something fruity that he’s pretty sure isn’t perfume, and so far Sam’s confusion has only grown. 

“What’re we doing?” he asks. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see!” She leans over and kisses him on the cheek before pulling away from the curb and driving off. 

They’ve been on the road for about twenty minutes and Sam can tell now that they’re heading towards the coast. They’re in the hills, winding along as the green ridges rise around them. It’s a beautiful day, that Sam can’t argue; the sky is almost too blue and Jess has the windows down with one arm hanging out. The wind feels good on his face and when he takes a deep breath the air filling his lungs is fresh and clear. He’s almost tempted to stick his head out the window like a dog but settles on leaning towards it and closing his eyes, turning his face up into the warm sun. 

He wonders again where Jess is taking him. If it were two years ago, being woken up and told to hurry to the car would inevitably mean sitting in the back seat for hours on the way to some case. There’d be a cooler of beer in the back and a trunk full of guns and knives and salt and Dean would be up front blasting Zeppelin. He’s pretty sure that’s not what Jess has in mind, although who knows. That would be one hell of a plot twist.

Instead, his girlfriend is next to him humming along to Joni Mitchell, curling a strand of golden hair around her finger, and the car smells more like a bakery than a bar. She sighs contentedly and looks over at him with a smile that reminds him of honey and morning dew. 

They drive along Route 1 for a while, the ocean spreading out to their right from the road to the horizon. When Jess pulls off into a dusty lookout point and puts the car in park, they’re on a lonely stretch of coastline that juts out into the ocean with nothing but water on three sides and hills on the other. 

“Okay, we’re here!” Jess says, climbing out of the car and darting to the back seat. Sam gets out and goes over to her side of the car to watch her as she roots around and pops back out triumphantly holding a basket over one arm, a checkered blanket over the other, and a case of root beer in one hand. Oh, a picnic. That makes sense. 

“Huh,” he frowns, curious. “I’ve never actually had a picnic before.” 

Jess gives him a good natured smile; she knows he had an unconventional childhood, though of course she hasn’t been privy to the details. 

“Well I’m honored to be your first time,” she teases. 

They clamber down the sloped seaside until they get to a flat, grassy spot just before the sand starts. 

“Perfect,” Jess states, and lays down the blanket and starts unloading the picnic basket. They’ve got sandwiches and chips and this fancy French cheese that Jess loves, and ruby red strawberries that make a succulent slurping sound when she bites into them. The breeze is pleasant, light enough that they don’t have to worry about their napkins being blown away or hair getting in Jess’s face, and the conversation is bright and easy. Sam could listen to her talk endlessly and not get bored, he’s pretty sure. Jess is throwing her head back and laughing, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and the sound is music to Sam’s ears. Sometimes he wonders how he got so lucky with her, what a girl so smart and kind and beautiful is doing sitting here with him. But she looks genuinely happy, and he knows she loves him, can see it in the way she looks at him--not to mention that she tells him every day. 

It turns out that food and sun and warmth make you sleepy, and Sam is feeling heavy and sated, so he flops back down on the blanket with a pleased grunt. Jess swigs down the last of her root beer and lies down next to him, reaching her arms above her head and stretching long and luxurious. 

“Are you having a good time?” she asks, turning on her side to face him and resting her cheek on her arm. 

“Yeah, babe. This is great.” He runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back and ghosting a thumb over her cheekbone. “Thank you.” 

Her smile nearly makes Sam squint from its brightness, those Sunday school blue eyes catching the light and reflecting it back to him. Her eyes are searching, he’s not sure what for, but after a moment she breaks her gaze and sits up, glancing around the empty horizon before moving smoothly to straddle him. She settles down around his hips and braces her arms on his chest, biting her lip almost shyly, though the glint in her eyes says otherwise. 

Sam’s hands are moving to her thighs before he really knows it, spanning wide around them like that’s where his hands belong, and maybe they do. He rubs along the smooth skin as her hands slide up to massage his shoulders, thin fingers digging in to the muscle. She strokes a hand through his hair, petting at it affectionately and lightly scratching his scalp. He leans into her touch as his hands move up, under her sundress now. He skates his fingertips along her lower stomach, feeling the muscle under her velvet skin twitch at the light touch, lays his palm flat against her there and feels it roll when she grinds her pelvis down against him. 

She’s breathing a little heavier now, eyes a bit glazed and pupils wide as she wraps her fingers around his hand as far as they’ll go and guides it down, past the waist of her lace panties. Sam gladly follows her unspoken request and uses his fingers like he knows she loves, working her open with two deep inside her slick heat and the knuckle of his thumb sliding against her clit. Jess’s lips are parted and her cheeks are getting flushed, and Sam loves when she gets like this, wants nothing more than to see her melt for him. 

She leans down and kisses him, tongue fluttering out to stroke against his, and her mouth tastes like strawberries and saltine crackers, which is actually a much more pleasant combination than it sounds. She’s grinding down on his hand, eyelids getting heavy and struggling to stay open. 

“Sam,” she whines, and he knows what every intonation in her voice means, so he removes his hand and unzips his jeans, lifts his hips to tug down his pants and boxers. He pushes her panties aside to sink into her in one smooth stroke and holds her against him with a palm splayed flat on the small of her back.  

It’s slow and deep, she rides him with rolls of her hips until her thighs start trembling so he guides her, moving her up and down with a firm grip on her waist. She makes the prettiest noises, sweet and high, and she’s so soft and warm around him, so pure and smooth under his hands, like touching unfiltered sunlight. 

She clenches around him when she comes, and he follows her without a sound, but his hands hold her close, stroking her back and running through her hair.  

When they head back on the road to Stanford, the sun is lower in the sky than when they left, its early-morning fierceness mellowed into late-afternoon glow. Sam has his hand wrapped around Jess’s, and he’s stroking her palm with his thumb absentmindedly while he stares out the window at the hills closing in on them. He thinks he likes picnics. With Jess, at least, they’re quite nice. Letting his mind wander to the ring sitting in a box buried deep in his sock drawer, it occurs to him that he might be lucky enough to have years of picnics ahead of him. The idea makes him smile and hold her hand tighter.


End file.
